


Something Borrowed

by nouvellebrielle



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1687652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nouvellebrielle/pseuds/nouvellebrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After 500 years, Gojyo finally found something he didn't know he was looking for. Or the one where they're (mostly) vampires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Borrowed

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Vampire AU. Written in exchange for this[ lovely gothic awesomeness](http://indelicateink.livejournal.com/208076.html#cutid1) that [](http://indelicateink.livejournal.com/profile)[**indelicateink**](http://indelicateink.livejournal.com/) drew for me. Thank you very much.  <3 Happy extremely belated 5/8 day! Beta done by [](http://avierra.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://avierra.livejournal.com/)**avierra** , who had to clean up all sorts of nonsense and loose-ends. Thank you, hun. I did touch it after I got it back, so any mistakes within are mine and mine alone.   
> 

  
Gojyo slouched into the tattered velvet cushions of his booth. The blinding strobe lights and the thunderous music burned and throbbed in his brain. He welcomed it, revelling in a pain he had not felt in centuries. The novelty of drinking alcohol and having it simply drain right through an immortal system wore off quickly.

There was just one stripper on the poles. She was a small, pretty thing, and Gojyo could clearly see the tremble of disgust beneath the smile on her lips, the same way he could see the trails of sweat slicked on her skin. The smell of cheap booze and cheaper sex was intoxicating. If he didn’t crave to be a part of it all as much, he would have thrown up a long time ago. And all the time, he had voices in his head; the place was an emotional landmine. Five hundred fucking years, and he still didn’t know how to keep foreign thoughts out of his own fucking head. Maybe he didn’t want to. It was nice to know that he still could have that much of human society, at least. The thought made him laugh, sickened to the bone with himself and not even understanding why.

_Why the hell are you here?_

Amidst the sea of normalcy, Gojyo could sense some of his kind blending within the throng, like outcasts at a masquerade. They were weak; young types that were new to the trade. They didn’t even notice that he was there, preoccupied as they were being impressed with themselves and too dumbass to realise there was nothing to feel superior about. Sooner or later, they would make an unredeemable mistake and come face to face with the Order. That would be that, and Gojyo just hoped he wouldn’t be the one to get the job. He had better shit to do with his time than go about whipping young bloodsucking asses.

_What a joke. You don’t know what you’re doing with your time, anyway._

His cigarette lit itself with a brief flare of amber that slowly faded into a miniscule pinprick in the darkness, far more real than the artificial flashes of spotlight on the dance floor. This was his fortieth in two hours; one of the advantages of being dead was that you couldn’t exactly die from chain smoking. Gojyo clenched his teeth and focused on the breathless feeling of smoke down his lungs, hating to admit to a deep welling of disappointment that broiled sourly in his chest.

His Maker wasn’t here, wasn’t anywhere in London, the UK, not even goddamned Europe. And Gojyo’d been so sure, too, that he’d finally find the bastard this time and kill him for what he’d fucking done. Except, about five minutes after the tube had creaked into Leicester Square station, his Maker’s signature had vanished abruptly from the seedy recesses of Soho. It was reappearing now, strange hazy images that interspersed itself into his peripheral until the club was like a mismatched backdrop in a play. The setting was the Far East. Somewhere oriental, definitely. Gojyo kept catching vague glimpses of neon signboards, kept hearing the smooth tattle of a quick Asian tongue. He stumbled upwards, left some coins on the table with a clumsy toss. The exit was somewhere to the back; Gojyo headed in its general direction, unsure about whether he was dodging busy commuters or the frenzied clubbing crowd.

_Where is he where is he where is he—_

The wet pavements outside the nightclub loomed dangerously ahead, unfolding before his very eyes like a monster stretching long dark limbs. He was standing at the edge of a gigantic scramble crossing. He could hear blasts of bubblegum pop, although it was distant and sounded like he was trying to capture the sound through a static channel. Traffic lights flashed red and green and red and green at the back of his head, as he stood staring up at a huge electronic billboard. Fucking hell, the bastard was in—

“Oi, arsehole! Watch where the fuck you’re going will ya?”

Gojyo wrenched himself firmly away from the garbled visions of Shibuya, and brought himself firmly back down onto English soil. He had somehow made it close to the main street. He could see the rickshaw pullers from Chinatown to his right. There was a hand gripping tightly at his collar. Gojyo could hear every fumbling idea that passed through his accoster’s mind, saw himself beaten to a pulp in the drunken teenager’s fancies of self-heroism. The kid wasn’t even eighteen. Gojyo pried the hold off, careful not to break any fingers by accident.

“Get the fuck off,” he said, and met the challenging gaze head on. It worked; it nearly always did. A glimmer of doubt broke through the fiery intent in the boy’s eyes, driven by a primitive sense of fear ingrained deeply in the mechanisms of prey. Gojyo wasn’t sure what the kid saw in his face, or how it gave the monster within away, but he could hear the frantic jumping heart pick up the fervent pace. The air was filled with the metallic tang of blood, coursing through the young, supple body before him. The scent was headier than the most potent incense in a Turkish harem. Gojyo could feel the first stirrings of desire, and when was the last time he’d eaten, anyway? It would be so easy to reach out and satisfy himself...

His phone was vibrating in his jeans pocket. Akon started rapping at the world to ‘smack that’. By the time Gojyo’d gotten a grip on the momentary disorientation, the boy was gone. It was probably the only smart thing he’d done the entire evening. Otherwise, well. His boss would have called it ‘being a victim of your own stupidity’. Heartless bastard.

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Gojyo muttered. “Shut up.” He took a deep breath to calm his frazzled nerves before picking up. He needed to be on his toes when dealing with the ass on the line.

“Hello princess. What can I do for you?”

“Die,” Sanzo growled. “What the fuck are you doing in London?”

He’d expected the Order to be on his case, but damn were they were efficient. He’d worked for them for centuries, but the competency of their Intel still scared the fuck out of him sometimes.

“Shopping at Selfridges. Why the hell do you care?”

“Because you, you _moron_ , have the tendency to screw up my peaceful Zen life,” Sanzo said, like Gojyo was somehow responsible for detracting him from his meditation and sutras. Gojyo shrugged and leaned against an empty telephone booth. The naked women on the porn promotional posters were particularly eye-catching.

“Yeah, okay. What the fuck do you want then? You’re my boss, not my mom, Mom.”

“Some idiot has been leeching off humans in Hyde Park.”

“Whoa, like a picnic.” He could practically hear Sanzo rolling his eyes. “So what? I do my clean-up crew duties, and you do me a favour. How’s that?”

“This is your fucking _job_ , idiot.”

“Yeah, well, too bad. I’m way past retirement age, Princess.”

Gojyo grinned at the irate pause on Sanzo’s part. They both knew he’d get rid of the threat anyway, because no one deserved to die at the hands of vampires, no matter what the vampires themselves thought. But Sanzo was considering listening to him, which might be the only chance he would get since he was out of savings at the moment.

“What the hell do you want then?” Sanzo said, after a disgruntled mumble of complaint. “Spit it out, idiot. I don’t have that much time to listen to your whining.”

“Yeah, yeah. I take them out in half an hour and you get me the first available plane to Tokyo.”

Gojyo’s fingers tightened around the stray threads in his pocket. If Sanzo said no, he’d head over to Hyde Park anyway, but he’d lose this chance, and what if this was it, if this was the one time that slimy elusive bastard had actually intended for him to catch up in their cat-and-mouse game—

“You’re still looking.” It wasn’t a question. But Sanzo, having lost something important before, had to understand why he needed to search.

“Of course,” Gojyo muttered. “I’ve been searching for five hundred fucking years, and I don’t even remember why. Would you stop?”

It was one in the morning. Gojyo glanced at his watch impatiently, and up at the night crowd that was starting to spill down the dingy side road. “C’mon, you know why. You’re on your tenth reincarnation, for Christ’s sake. _C’mon_.”

It was as close to begging as he’d ever get with Sanzo.

“…Fine.”

The word was crisp like a breath of fresh air. Gojyo felt a little like crying, which probably meant he felt ridiculous.

“Fine, but get your arse moving before I change my mind. Next flight’s in three hours.”

+++++

_There had never been a palazzo in Italy quite as grand. Everything seemed sculpted from marble; the Grecian statues, the fountains, the high columns and sprawling staircases. The entire palace was calculated to be breathtaking. Soft candlelight spilled over rose gardens and the halls were bright with magnificent chandeliers. But he was not taken in. This would not be the first time beauty was used to hide the monster within._

_The Order had given him this quest out of desperation. This vampire was different from the normal desperate creature of darkness he’d long gotten used to putting out of misery. Their best hunters had moved into Rome, Vaticano District, and were never seen again. It was obvious that they were being mocked by a being of supreme intelligence; the murders, all of them the work of a supernatural being, were left at the steps of the Basilica di San Pietro. Hardly a stone throw away from the monster’s stronghold. He had instructions to suppress the vampire at all costs. And it wasn’t difficult to follow the wishes of his superiors when they coincided with his own. Jien’s death was still a fresh, raw, throbbing wound in his chest. But it wouldn’t have been in vain._

_Unearthly music drifted out through the open lattices. He entered the ballroom, unable to stop from admiring the fine murals of Botticelli that spanned across the high ceiling and walls. The dancing throngs were human like he, but some being was lending them an ethereal glow, until each mortal soul was infused with a seductive perfection, much in the same way a clever artist covered the flaws of his model. He found himself relaxing his guard unwillingly, and shook himself out of the tantalising stupor, only to become sharply aware that he had been noticed._

_There. At the end of the ballroom. He laid eyes on the most beautiful face he had ever seen before, utterly flawless and as such, utterly inhuman. It was enough to drive proud kings to their knees in supplication, and he was starting to suspect that he wasn’t any different. It was beyond him to resist for long. Ashamed, he turned to leave, but was held in place by an amused, confident gaze. The colour of those eyes brought to the forefront a painful memory, of leaving his brother’s grave in the rich forests near their mountain village. His feet stilled of their own volition, as the vampire started towards him with heart-stopping grace. A voice slipped into the back of his head, filling it with the softest sensual whispers._

_“Welcome,” it said, the greeting echoed in the delighted smile on the creature’s lips._

_That was his first meeting with the patrician._

+++++

“Welcome to Tokyo, Gojyo-san.”

The aide Sanzo had arranged for him was a young bespectacled man, who could not have been more than twenty-five. He had a good solid heartbeat, and a very well-organised mental process. It was obvious from the get-go that whoever he was, he was well-trained. Every thought that Gojyo read off him was placed there precisely for the purpose of concealing his true feelings.

There was also something extremely disconcerting about his eyes, but Gojyo couldn’t place it.

“Uh, thanks,” Gojyo said, and after a brief, awkward tug-of-war, surrendered his hand luggage to the aide. “You got a name I can use?”

“Hakkai is fine,” Hakkai said, his tone rivalling with his beam for brightest and happiest. Did he never stop smiling? Gojyo wondered at that and it was impossible not to suspect that Sanzo had chosen the most irritating person for the job purely out of spite.

It was dark outside Narita airport. Gojyo scowled at his watch, which still read English time, until Hakkai helpfully pointed out the hour.

“Your lodgings have all been arranged for,” the aide stated, and directed him towards a functional Toyota company car. It was white, and cramped, and Gojyo would be a passenger, he realised, when Hakkai took the automatic route to the driver’s seat. The engine purred alive when Hakkai turned the ignition key, and they headed out to central Tokyo in mutual silence.

Gojyo leaned against the cool window pane, peering out at the flashing scenery with an uncomfortable feeling gnawing at his stomach. Did Hakkai know what he was dealing with? Probably. Sanzo wasn’t that much of an arsehole, unless he really didn’t like the dude. But there was something really off with the man that he couldn’t place. Gojyo fiddled with the zip of his leather jacket and tried very hard to put his finger on it. Next to him, Hakkai began humming quietly, a pleasant tune with an Eastern European lilt.

“Where’s that from?”

The expressway was deserted. Gojyo thought that they looked like the only travellers in the world.

“It’s very old,” Hakkai said. “I’m not sure you’ll know it.”

“I’m very old.”

Hakkai let out a quiet laugh. “Yes,” he said.

Gojyo turned to watch him. The warm orange glow of the highway lights burned in their reflection in Hakkai’s eyes. Hakkai was staring ahead. If the man was any bit uneasy about his new companion, he was hiding it well enough to befuddle a mind-reader. There was an easy smile toying with Hakkai’s lips. The small curl on the corners of his mouth was threatening to widen to immense proportions, and in a moment of déjà vu, Gojyo thought that maybe he recognised it—

A sharp burst of pain on his skin, and he looked down in surprise. The zipper bit tightly onto his forefinger. The bloodless wound disappearing as quickly as it came, with nothing but a faint ache to indicate that it the hurt had been real. And even that was fading fast.

“Careful,” Hakkai said with good cheer. If he’d taken his eyes off the road for an instant, Gojyo didn’t see it happen.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” Gojyo wiped his hands on his jeans and tried not to fidget under the pinpricks of discomfort on the nape of his neck.

It wasn’t long before their car stopped at the entrance of Shinjuku Hyatt. Gojyo whistled low; someone else in the Order must have arranged it. Sanzo was too much of a stingy bastard to have approved this. He loafed about the lobby, scuffing the black and white marble with his shoes, and admiring the silver-plated ashtrays by the lifts as he let Hakkai handle the logistics. Everything was opulent, from the glass elevators to the presidential suite. There was something unbearable about the grandeur. Gojyo found himself staring at the ornate wallpaper and swallowed a sudden melancholy.

“If it’s not to your liking,” Hakkai began, but Gojyo shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, fingers clenching tight in its blood red strands.

“No. It’s great.” He flung himself unceremoniously onto the bed, noting the twinge of disapproval from Hakkai. “Where are you staying?”

“Down the hall,” Hakkai said, and he was still frowning at Gojyo’s shoes. Apparently, that was what it took to make his smile slip. Inconsideration. “Please don’t hesitate to call if you should require any assistance.”

“Yeah. Night. Guess you’re tired and stuff too, huh.” Something occurred to Gojyo then.

“Oh! Hey, wait,” He called out. “Can you, you know. Read minds or something.” He wasn’t sure if he was going to like the answer or not.

“Me?” Hakkai asked pleasantly. He really needed to stop arranging Gojyo’s luggage like he was some kind of hired servant. “I’m not a particularly gifted telepath, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He said that with such a straight face that Gojyo couldn’t immediately believe him.

“Oh-kay. Then, you any different from the other humans?”

Hakkai’s smile showed teeth. He was slowly revamping his ideal aide image. “Oh, certainly. I’m quite adapt at telekinesis when I have to be, and I am guilty of the occasional thought-form projection.”

That confirmed it; the Order was really filled with weirdos. Nothing he didn’t know, actually. His abilities as an empath had been there before he was turned, but the vampirism was chiefly responsible for escalating it way out of control and making his head echo with enough ruckus to put Grand Central Station’s peak hour crowd to shame.

“Expect you’re gonna tell me you’re a precog too.”

It was a poor attempt at a joke, and it backfired splendidly. Hakkai froze in mid-action. Gojyo’s coat slipped from the hanger and pooled at his feet. His mind, which normally sounded like a peaceful, undecipherable muttering, was now completely subdued. The silence was deafening.

“I am not. It’s a pity, really. That one gift would have saved me a lot of pain.” Hakkai didn’t look at him while delivering this admission. “Good night, Gojyo.”

The door clicked quietly behind him. Gojyo was left to stare at the ceiling, Hakkai’s wordless humming playing in his head like a broken gramophone, and he listened hard enough to catch the dying strains of an old violin.

+++++

_The patrician stopped but a breath away. His skin was like luminescent ivory, a flattering contrast to his lips, which sat like the rarest of roses on that exquisite face. His dressing was of the latest finery, the black velvet doublet a becoming fit on his pleasing form. Each tasteful ruff was teased to perfection. He was every inch like the forbidden pagan gods of old, and it showed in his knowing smile, his careless grace._

_Gojyo had never felt more common in the presence of another such being._

_“Good evening,” the patrician said, his foreign tongue lending an exotic inflection to his Italian. “Please pardon my rudeness, but it does seem like we have no need for introductions.”_

_The evening breeze fluttered through the curtains, the sudden chill brushing against Gojyo’s cheek like an unexpected kiss. The sweet scent of spring cloyed at the back of his throat. There was a muted fear in his heart, and he struggled to quell it along with the broiling insignificance and despair._

_“Please don’t be afraid,” the patrician said, his eyes gentle even as they were bewitching. “You have really no reason to be.”_

_“Oh?” Gojyo replied, despite himself. “Nice to know I’m so special.”_

_The patrician laughed, pleased. Gojyo didn’t quite understand why._

_“Anyway,” he continued, “you can’t blame me for believing the stories about you.” He took a wary step back, painfully aware of how futile it all was. There was no conceivable way to destroy this monster. The Order must have known this, had used him to do their bidding anyway, like he was their filthy whore._

_“No, I don’t blame you at all,” the patrician said, in mock solemnity. Then he smiled again. “But if you’ll be so kind as to allow me, I can show you that stories can be distorted.” He reached out a hand in offering._

_The music was starting again. Gojyo remained transfixed, an unwilling victim of helplessness._

_“One dance and I’ll let you go,” the patrician promised. Gojyo could sense no ill-intent from the vampire, although his feeble probing was no match against such ancient power. It was akin to trusting the devil, he thought, but that was a risk he had no choice but to take._

_“Two men dancing? We’ll cause a scandal,” he challenged. “No one will enter your palazzo again.”_

_“Please correct me if I’m wrong,” the patrician countered lightly. “You’re hardly one to care about scandal.”_

_He gestured at the revellers with a flourish, and for the first time that evening, Gojyo caught sight of something sinister pass over his countenance._

_“Ah,” the patrician sighed, his manner one of quiet resignation. “But they never see what they don’t want to see.” His eyes met Gojyo’s and seemed to read right through to his soul. “You’re not like that.”_

_Gojyo had no choice._

_“One dance,” he agreed. The patrician’s mirth was warm while his hands were deathly cold to the touch._

+++++

There was something soothing about being in the sun. It was like retaining an inch of his humanity, and that was better than having none. Gojyo sat his shades to perch jauntily on his head as he led the way into the Starbucks on the busy corner of Shibuya’s scramble junction. Hakkai followed close behind, seemingly bemused about something or another.

“A matcha frappe,” he muttered to his aide, “Order for me will ya? Breakfast was a real fuck-up.” There would be plenty of time to practice his language skills later on.

“Are you sure?” Hakkai looked worried. “It’s not too rich or—”

“Nah, it won’t make me sick.” Not that it was going to keep him full or anything, but that was something Gojyo was going to avoid thinking about for as long as he could. He left Hakkai to choose the seats right next to the large glass windows, drenched in pale morning sunlight. Gojyo peered out at the bustling masses outside, organised in their disorganised rush to get on with their lives. They passed mostly as indistinct blurs, faces sharpening in his heightened vision before slipping out of focus. Maybe one of them had been his Maker. How was Gojyo supposed to know? He couldn’t feel any connection, save for the little glimpses that were starting to feel like they’d been let slip on purpose. Like a series of beckoning commands delivered to make Gojyo up and run over like a fucking obedient doggy. And just like that, he was swept out in a wave of blind panic, unable to accept that maybe he would be searching for another millennia to come.

“Oh my! It is a rare day anyone manages to sneak up on a vampire.” Hakkai’s voice was right next to his ear. Stunned, Gojyo stumbled backwards, and whirled around quick enough to slam right into the body behind his.

“Don’t do that, man! Fucking hell, that was some creepy shit!”

By some miracle, Hakkai’d managed to balance their tray whilst simultaneously avoiding taking Gojyo’s elbow to the nose. He set the drinks on the table, and chose his seat, eyes squinting in the harsh glare of light spilling right onto their spot.

“You really like the sun,” he observed casually.

“Yeah,” Gojyo said, defensive. “So what?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Jien had loved the sun too. He couldn’t recall what the heck his brother looked like anymore, but he remembered some pretty useless things instead.

“Hey,” Gojyo said, as he had a sudden realisation. “You can sense our kind, right?” It stood to reason. What good would an employee of the Order be if he couldn’t even find what they were hunting half the time?

“I can.” Hakkai handed him a napkin which he accepted on autopilot. “May I ask why?”

“Er, yeah. But how strong is your intuition?”

“As strong as is needed,” Hakkai said evasively. Gojyo didn’t trust himself to meet Hakkai’s searching gaze. He stared at the ground instead, unsure of what to think. His left shoelace was undone. Could Hakkai point out exact location? As an empath, it should have been effortless for Gojyo, but it wasn’t. All his previous efforts had been deterred by a frustrating mental block of some kind. He needed this help if he was ever going to get anywhere.

“Okay.” Gojyo took a deep breath and plunged. “Across Tokyo. Can you tell me where the vampire with the strongest power signature is?”

Hakkai nodded. There was an unfathomable sympathy in his expression; he clearly knew why they were in Tokyo. It was almost too much bitterness for Gojyo to control.

“He’s right here,” Hakkai said softly. Gojyo let the words sink in slow like pushing a knife into his gut inch by inch. He glanced around the café, then back at Hakkai, feeling progressively sickened with each dismissive shake of Hakkai’s head.

“Well, fuck it then,” he heard himself say, intending for it to come out flippantly except that it wobbled all wrong and unsteady. It hurt. It hurt like hell, the cruel passage of time rubbing a raw file over an ancient wound that had never healed. And he’d be damned before he let anyone see that kind of embarrassing shit.

“Gojyo—”

“Yeah, whatever. You can’t kill someone that’s not here, can you? So, whatever.” He brushed off Hakkai’s concern and stood up, his half-untouched matcha frappe a sorry melting mess on the table. “Book a ticket for wherever. I want out.”

“ _Gojyo_! Wait—!”

He didn’t stick around to hear what Hakkai had to say. Shibuya raced past him as he ran, left Hakkai’s calls far behind until it faded in the howling winds.

+++++

_“That is in your likeness,” Gojyo whispered, as he stared at the ceiling through the flimsy canopy. The mural portrayed the patrician with holy piety, the wings of an angel spanning across the entirety of the chamber. Gifted was the hand of the painter that had captured the patrician’s immortality in his art. Gojyo could not help but notice that there was something wondrously beautiful in irony._

_The patrician traced a last loving circle on Gojyo’s chest, before settling down by his side. His smile was fond as he too looked up._

_“This is the work of Michelangelo. He always had a good hand at statues, living or otherwise.” Gojyo could see what he meant. The patrician might have been sculptured from marble. “Perhaps he was in love with me.”_

_“Yes? You offered him that much?” The patrician was obsessed. Gojyo wondered if Michelangelo had seen things differently from the blind masses of ignorant humans._

_The small kiss to his collarbone sent a shiver of want through Gojyo’s body._

_“I offered him immortality,” the patrician murmured. His voice was a lazy soothing lull. “But he didn’t want something he already had.”_

_“I would have chosen the same,” Gojyo said. The patrician sighed._

_“I know.”_

_Perhaps Gojyo was under a spell. It wasn’t unusual to hear of vampires playing mind games with their prey, twisting their emotions until they were unable to distinguish between what they truly felt and what had been forced upon them._

_The thought didn’t bother Gojyo as much as it should have._

_“Will you come again tonight?” The patrician asked, his dark hair fanning over the cushions like a spread of the finest Persian silk. Gojyo had a sudden desire to tell him all his secrets. Like how Jien was killed, why he joined the Order, how the patrician must have been created by the Muses from Mount Helicon because no being had ever been so fair. He thought about all these things, and the patrician’s laughter rang like chapel bells._

_“I’m a prisoner, remember?” Gojyo said, and counted down the hours till he would return._

+++++

The rain stopped as Gojyo stepped out of the alleyway and onto the main pavement. The street was nearly empty. The few passersby hurried by without sparing him more than a cursory glance. Gojyo could pick up disjointed fragments of their thoughts, on work or cooking or the children at home, the images and emotions flashing in his head like a mixed reel at the old picture houses.

Gojyo didn’t have a clue where he was. The surroundings were some sort of clustered residential area, the eerie white lights stretching out from the uniform apartment corridors like bony fingers. They glistened off the shining puddles on the road. A car sped past, its tires skidding over the metal drain covers. Mud splashed all over. Gojyo stared at the brown splotches gracing the hem of his jeans and felt the opening stirrings of guilt.

Why the heck did he freak and run out on Hakkai, anyway? It wasn’t like his aide had been responsible for all the shit that Gojyo’s endless life generally comprised of. He’d let the disappointment hit home hard this time, taking each stab of despair like nails through his heart. Fuck his self-pitying ways. Like some self-punishing masochist, Gojyo had convinced himself, foolishly, that his vision of the scramble crossing had been some sort of turning point, a welcome break in the status quo of repeated disappointment.

Yeah right. Optimism had the unfortunate tendency to bite him hard on the arse, and it was hardly the first time.

The overcast night skies were bruised black and blue with swollen red clouds hanging ominously low. If it rained in hell, Gojyo thought, this would have been what it looked like. Hopefully, Hakkai was somewhere warm and safe, instead of hunting for Gojyo through foreign, faceless crowds like the responsible workaholic he probably was. Leaning against a disused vending machine, Gojyo watched his breath rise in intangible mists and he let his mind wander.

Thirteen million thoughts crammed into Gojyo’s mind in the same instant. Some of it was profane, a kind of defilement that Gojyo could not help but relate to rape. All of it was invasive, from the most innocent of loves to the vilest of lusts. They all added up into a deafening roar at the back of Gojyo’s head, culminating into a shrill flat-line as he scoured desperately through the labyrinth for Hakkai’s tranquillity, like a dying man prays for an oasis in the desert.

Like the eye of a storm, Hakkai’s mind was easy enough to find. The complete stillness stood out from the constant flurry of activity around. Slowly, with a sick feeling to his gut, Gojyo realised that it wasn’t alone.

A vampire’s power signature had manifested near Hakkai. There was something disconcertingly familiar about the poisonous madness that spread rampant through its brain like a disease. Gojyo could almost touch the sheer malice that seeped thick into the atmosphere like the solid smog of pollution. It made his skin crawl.

And just like that, it was gone.

Fear. Gojyo was hit with the sudden realisation that he could come up with a million explanations for Sanzo and the Order, but that he would never, ever forgive himself. Some time ago, he’d started running, his body shifting gear from conscious action to automatism.

_Why do you care?_

Because Hakkai was human and it was his job. Because there were few people in the world that knew what he was without expecting more from him than that he removed his shoes, please, before he caused an inconvenience for the hotel’s cleaning staff.

_Why do you care?_

Gojyo had never run that fast before. He could feel the restrains from the vortex of air he’d created as it rushed to fill in the vacuum he’d left behind. Was teleportation really possible? The Order had hardly any records of it. Roofs blended into granite into roofs again in a cyclical pattern of confusing clarity.

_Why do you care?_

_I don’t know, okay? Fuck off damn it—_ Like Gojyo gave a damn about the whys. Reasoning and logic had never done any good for him, and if the thought of Hakkai as a dead, mutilated corpse hurt like bonds squeezing tightly around his chest, then so be it if he cared. Never mind that he’d only known Hakkai for two days out of his miserable centuries of existence.

Hakkai was by the backdoor of a nightclub. Gojyo turned around the corner when the smell hit him like a freight-train. The world spun out of focus in a swirl of blacks and whites and greys exploding like a supernova behind Gojyo’s eyes. Then he was on his hands and knees, empty stomach heaving with the force of each dry retch. It wasn’t possible for a body long dead to produce bile, but something acidic burned in Gojyo’s throat anyway, stung his eyes with tears.

There was blood everywhere. It covered the grey slate walls and rusted metal door. It ran across the ground like a river, and please, _please_ don’t let Hakkai be the source. Hakkai, who knelt in a daze in the middle of the entire mess. Red matted into his hair, streaked across his face, arms, clothes like he’d bathed in the blood during the performance of a twisted, sacrilegious rite.

Hakkai’s soul was screaming for help, a desperate cry that clawed its way like weeds through carefully erected mental barriers.

Gojyo reached out. He took Hakkai by the shoulders, coaxing and shaking by turn, hell-bent on snapping Hakkai out of the blank stupor he’d worked himself into. Hakkai raised his head slowly, lovely eyes troubled and unfocused.

“Gojyo?” he said in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

At least it was painfully obvious what had become of that rogue vampire. What Gojyo couldn’t understand was _how_ the heck Hakkai’d managed to liquidate an entire immortal body. Or way Sanzo didn’t think it was necessary to mention that his new aide could do shit that no human in the Order had even dared to attempt before.

A car sped past the entrance of the narrow passage, its tires screeching for purchase on the wet road. The sounds faded into the night, until Hakkai’s heartbeat became a steady, thunderous drumming in Gojyo’s ears. In that moment, Gojyo remembered that humans too were capable of monstrous deeds. But Hakkai was now holding onto his arm, expression hopelessly lost, and Gojyo thought that maybe they understood each other perfectly well.

“It’s okay,” he muttered, the words stumbling out awkwardly as he tried his hardest to show how much he meant what he was saying. “You’ll be all right, you know?”

Gojyo said, “C’mon, stand up.”

He said, “We gotta go, can’t stay here, we gotta—”

He said, “Damn it, just move.”

“Shit, you got to be kidding me, _please—_ ”

“I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”

+++++

_The Sistine chapel was colder than a mausoleum. Gojyo lay at the feet of the altar in a puddle of his own blood, as he stared up at the Last Judgment. Every bone in his body ached. Each breath was a struggle to keep on living._

_There were voices echoing off the walls in a cacophony of angry, heated taunts and accusations. All around him, the uncompassionate eyes of angels and apostles watched him from their places in the tapestries like a bloodthirsty jury in a tribunal. But he was almost all alone._

_Banri, Gojyo tried to say, the words lodging itself like burning acid at the back of his throat. He couldn’t talk, but he wanted to laugh. Of all people to be killed by, he had to die at the hands of the most useless idiot of them all. What did the Order expect from Banri? He’d turned traitor once, it was obvious enough that even a simple fool like Gojyo had expected him to do it again._

_Gojyo’s consciousness rose and ebbed like the sea at storm, and when it finally settled, the pain was gone, and he was far away from the frigid halls of the chapel. The verdant hills that were the backyard of his house were covered in sunshine and the smell of spring. He could hear Jien calling from the doorway, calling his name—_

_“Gojyo!”_

_“It’s okay,” Gojyo said. He leaned into the touch of the patrician’s gentle hands that smoothed the sweat from Gojyo’s brow. The patrician’s eyes were beautiful, and very sad. They reminded Gojyo of the forests at the foot of the mountains near where he’d once lived._

_The patrician was strong. He would carry on living, Gojyo thought, a touch ruefully. With the comforting thought that he wasn’t leaving behind anyone that would suffer from the weakness of loss, Gojyo died._

_And woke to a new nightmare._

+++++

“I killed him.”

There were dark shadows underneath Hakkai’s eyes, but he sat sedately on the couch in Gojyo’s suite, hands folded neatly in his lap as he stared out into unfathomable space. Gojyo for his part, felt a hundred times worse than Hakkai looked. He couldn’t resist slumping, the fingers of his right hand twitching spasmodically as his body made a desperate bid to convey its nicotine craving.

“Yeah,” Gojyo said, “I guessed.” He was tired. Every ounce of him wanted to lie down and rest. Maybe sleep till Sunday and forget Japan ever happened. But Hakkai didn’t look like he wanted to be left alone.

“I’ve wanted to do that for years,” Hakkai said mildly. He could have been reading the groceries list for all Gojyo knew, instead of discussing the bloody massacre he’d committed not half an hour ago.

“It’s really none of my business,” Gojyo tried, but Hakkai was shaking his head, the first sign of frustration that Gojyo’d seen that night. He plucked irritably at the edges of the leather cushions he was seated on, and couldn’t understand why Hakkai felt as calm as ever, why his heartbeat didn’t lose constancy even though he was human and obviously shaken by his own actions.

Something was very wrong.

“You understand me, don’t you?” Hakkai asked. Beneath the infallible politeness of his gaze was an intensity that made Gojyo squirm.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“All this time you have looked to kill the man that ruined your life, and I have done the same.”

Oh. So they were essentially in the same boat. Gojyo didn’t know what Hakkai’s vendetta against that vampire had been, but it wasn’t like he was in any position to judge.

“I guess its congratulations then,” Gojyo said, regretting the wryness in his tone. Not that Hakkai seemed to notice.

The designer clock made a complicated show of telling the time. It was one in the morning. Far in the streets below, the traffic lights started playing an electronic recording of a popular _enka_ to herald pedestrians across the busy city roads. Hakkai stood up and headed over to admire the view. He had really slender hips, Gojyo realised, and a gorgeous face, gorgeous hands. Hakkai was the first human he had ever met that had the same beautiful repose only achieved in death.

“Word of advice, Gojyo.” Hakkai had his hands pressed to the window pane like he was trying to reach for something out there in the vast darkness of the night sky. “Sometimes you don’t know what it is you really want.”

Was Hakkai talking about him? Revenge? Gojyo didn’t know, didn’t want to be forced to think about it. He distracted himself instead by thinking about how kissable Hakkai’s lips looked, and why he’d never noticed it straightaway. They would be soft beneath his tongue, between his teeth, and if he’d bit down then, hard enough to bleed, they would taste even better, fuck, god forbid he tried.

“Do it,” Hakkai said.

There was a feral glint in his eyes that Gojyo had never noticed before. Hakkai was saying something, but Gojyo wasn’t listening. He could vaguely make out the movement of Hakkai’s lips, like watching television on mute. He scrambled up, almost tripped over the back of the couch in his haste to get away, mind still reeling from the horrifying realisation that Hakkai could read his thoughts.

“So now you know,” Hakkai said, simple as that. His smile was sad.

Gojyo headed into the bedroom and slammed the door.

+++++

_“Good morning, Gojyo.”_

_Gojyo opened his eyes and stared at the murals of Michelangelo, at the Creation of Adam as it hovered above him like an ugly truth—_

The bedroom ceiling. When did he fall asleep? Gojyo couldn’t remember except he was suddenly remembering too much, his senses going on overload as disjointed images filtered into his head like pieces from a broken mosaic.

“Fuck,” he muttered at a blinding jolt of pain behind his eyeballs. He twisted to the left and

_Strong arms trembled around him as the newly sharpened incisors in his mouth tore at the smooth white flesh on Hakkai’s throat, and the first taste of immortal blood was intoxicating like ambrosia from the gods._

The floor. His head connected against the marble with a sickening crack. Shit. _Hakkai_. And somehow or another he went from that thought to _Sanzo_ and _crazy bastard_ and he really needed his phone which was on the nightstand because he was downright pissed and the Order had better start talking—

_“Kill me.” Gojyo begged. He didn’t think about how much he was asking or why Hakkai looked ready to die instead._

_“I’m sorry,” Hakkai said._

“ _Hello_? Damn it, I don’t _care_ , just put me through to that asshole somehow, okay?!” Where the hell was Sanzo? On the one day out of half a millennia that Gojyo actually needed him, Sanzo couldn’t fucking stay on his throne in Rome.

_Europe, America, Asia. How many times had he found Hakkai only to be left with nothing but a memory spell and the start of another futile search?_

Gojyo breathed deeply, more out of habit than necessity. The throbbing grogginess that left him winded and useless on the ground was starting to clear.

“His Holiness has a lead on Ukoku.” The receptionist was apologising, like Gojyo gave a flying fuck about that. He let the phone slip from his hands. It clattered next to his ear, and he could still hear her concerned nattering although it sounded far away like he was listening to the call through thick layers of styrofoam.

There was someone in the room with him. His cell beeped twice before the line died. The weak light from the tiny LCD followed soon after.

“You fucking liar,” Gojyo said, the words coming out in a dry, uncomfortable rasp. He didn’t hear Hakkai’s footsteps. In between moments of perfect silence, Hakkai was suddenly by his side, helping him back to his feet with encouraging hands. Gojyo leaned into the touch, his body craving what he didn’t even realise he missed.

“I never lied to you,” Hakkai said quietly. He sat right next to Gojyo on the edge of the bed. Gojyo could feel the insistent press of his thigh, like Hakkai didn’t quite want to break contact ever again.

“You were pretending to be human,” Gojyo said. “Sure, that’s honest.” There was little heat in his voice. Still, Hakkai flinched away like he had been burned.

The alley he’d found Hakkai in just now. Banri’s face flashed unbidden into Gojyo’s head, twisted into a grotesque caricature of fright.

“That show was not meant for you,” Hakkai said.

Only Banri would have been stupid enough to mistake one of the most powerful vampires ever to exist for Gojyo’s latest human play-thing. Gojyo still didn’t know why he had to die in Rome. Maybe Banri had been jealous, or was just plain crazy.

“Or maybe he just didn’t expect me to care this much,” Hakkai finished for Gojyo. “I should like to think that he is regretting his actions in hell. But I suspect that he no longer feels much of anything at all.”

So much blood. Gojyo shuddered. There was a dreadful gnawing in the pit of his stomach. Somehow or another, he’d gone from slight hunger to near mindless famish. He could remember the last time he’d drank now. Sixty years ago in a dilapidated apartment in Moscow. The blood had trailed down the white of Hakkai’s wrists to stain at his moth-eaten rug.

“Gojyo, look at me, please.” Hakkai’s fingers were ghosting lightly against his cheek, tracing at the sharp jut of his bone. Gojyo turned to face him. Even in the dark, he could clearly see the rim of gold in the green irises of Hakkai’s eyes, gleaming like madness within a tightly controlled mind of reason.

Hakkai’s left hand was working on his own buttons. The shirt slipped away to reveal the unnaturally pale skin beneath. Gojyo couldn’t stop staring at the hollow of Hakkai’s throat, which moved when he swallowed and let out a soundless sigh.

“What do you want?” Hakkai asked, even though they both knew the answer.

Gojyo acted on instinct. The sheets were soft under his palms as he pressed Hakkai down against the bed. Hakkai submitted willingly, a show of subservience that rankled at Gojyo’s nerves because he knew now just how easily Hakkai could turn the tables on him, pin him down and take what he wanted whether Gojyo liked it or not. A slow burning arousal stirred in Gojyo’s groin, made all the worse by shame. Hakkai must have noticed. Slender fingers encircled Gojyo’s wrist in a gentle grip as Hakkai pushed himself up on an elbow, close enough to run a long, wet tongue over Gojyo’s earlobe. The edge of a sharp incisor scrapped teasingly against the soft skin.

“Would you like that?” Hakkai whispered. His voice seemed to come from the inside of Gojyo’s mind. “I could enjoy you, hold you down with my strength and have you mercilessly even whilst you drink from me, mouth full with my blood and unable to beg for more.”

The images were a ruthless assault in Gojyo’s mind. He groaned, tore his wrist free and searched frantically to meet Hakkai’s lips. Hakkai’s eyes widened in surprise, before softening into something tender.

“You haven’t wanted me like this in a while,” Hakkai said, clearly pleased. “Not since Rome.”He licked at the small cut on the corner of his mouth that Gojyo had left with urgent clumsiness.

“The word you’re looking for is fucked.”

“That’s it these days, yes.” Hakkai lay back, bared his throat and there was a delightful challenge in his eyes. “What are you waiting for, Gojyo?”

It was way too much effort not to, so Gojyo leaned over and put his mouth over Hakkai’s, fingertips and palms running over Hakkai’s writhing body as he arched up deliberately against Gojyo, pressing them together heart-to-heart and lower still. Hakkai was different this encounter, not like Moscow 1936, not like Paris 1845. Where he had once been distant, almost cold, enough for Gojyo to almost hate him even when he’d drank his fill from Hakkai’s pliant body, he was now desperately needy and his frantic kisses carried an affection that somehow hurt more than his prior indifference. Hakkai’s feelings, as far as Gojyo could tell, were a jumbled mess prettily packaged behind a layer of fastidiousness. Gojyo still couldn’t understand why Hakkai had been so quick to keep him at a distance, and Gojyo had been even quicker still to despair—

Hakkai’s hand caught at Gojyo’s chin. He brushed his thumb lightly across Gojyo’s lower-lip.

“Do you hate me?” Hakkai asked. He sounded tired. “I won’t apologise, Gojyo. I’ve kept you safe even as I’ve kept you away from me. Kept him away from you.”

“ _Safe_? The hell—”

Gojyo stopped, and looked down at Hakkai’s patient smile. And put it all together.

“Banri,” he said. “That _fucker_.”

“Oh, god. Don’t think of him now, Gojyo, _please_.” With teeth and tongue, Hakkai was persuasive at coaxing Gojyo’s attention back into the present. There was, after all, plenty of time to talk later.

The curve of Hakkai’s shoulder was smooth beneath Gojyo’s mouth. He sucked lightly at the flawless skin, eliciting a soft gasp from Hakkai, whose lips parted, slack with a pleasure that darkened his eyes. Hakkai’s fingers worked at freeing Gojyo’s jeans, only faltering slightly when it became too much effort for Gojyo to resist biting down.

Blood, and Gojyo’s cock was hot and heavy as he rubbed against Hakkai’s thigh, rutting even as he drank. Through a foggy headiness he could hear a litany of quiet moans spilling from Hakkai’s mouth, as a hand reached between their bodies to wrap around their erections. They rubbed against each other, a sticky velvet wetness that was too tempting to ignore. Gojyo thrust forward hard, relishing the delicious warmth of Hakkai’s hand as he stroked them together.

“The sheets,” Hakkai warned, struggling to speak in between his sharp panting, and it took Gojyo a while to realise that the blood from the wound he’d given Hakkai was staining the bedspread beneath. He couldn’t resist a grin; the patrician had been meticulous then, he sure as hell was meticulous now.

“My bad,” Gojyo said, his breath hot against Hakkai’s neck as he licked at the ugly red bite mark, unable to quell the proud surge of satisfaction that he’d been the cause. It wasn’t healing easily like all the other insignificant scrapes and scratches that Hakkai might have received before. Hakkai was clinging to him, arms tight around Gojyo’s body as he turned his head, lips questing for a kiss, then it was a delicious tangle of their tongues when Gojyo relented to that hot, insistent mouth. A sudden sharp pain, and he’d accidentally cut himself against Hakkai’s teeth. Hakkai moaned, chased the taste of Gojyo’s blood, sucked on the tip of Gojyo’s tongue as he spread his legs wider and pressed his hips upwards to create that coveted friction.

 _You could have him_. Hakkai, splayed out on his back with his knees pressed to his chest as he begged Gojyo to fuck him harder. The thought sent a thrill of anticipation dancing along Gojyo’s spine and he shuddered, burying his face in Hakkai’s chest as fingers thread themselves through strands of his hair, until Gojyo winced and resisted pulling away from Hakkai’s hold. Everything about Hakkai hurt, but it wasn’t like Gojyo wanted to stop feeling it if it meant that Hakkai was finally there.

“It’s not about power, is it?” Hakkai said suddenly, and Gojyo could freely hear Hakkai’s thoughts, which were now as open to him as his body was. _Oh, Gojyo._ And _you can have anything you want from me except death._

Oh, Gojyo.

Hakkai’s breath was a quiet, hitched sigh as Gojyo eased two fingers, slicked with come and saliva, into his body. Maybe one day he’d let Hakkai own him again, but tonight was revenge for the helplessness he’d suffered at the hands of Hakkai’s power, years and years ago.

“It’s okay,” Hakkai murmured, flinching and moaning at the strange paradox of pain and pleasure as Gojyo’s slid and twisted his fingers to stroke at Hakkai’s prostate. “Let it hurt, please. I don’t mind.”

“Fuck, no,” Gojyo said, and Hakkai looked stunned, then impossibly grateful, his eyes never leaving Gojyo’s face until Gojyo lifted his legs, lined his thick, flushed penis up and pressed in with one slow unrelenting move.

Gojyo couldn’t make out the words that fell from his own lips as his carefulness gave way with the slight ease of Hakkai’s muscles against him with each repeated push into the body underneath his own. Hakkai was tight and warm and present, and he held Gojyo like he didn’t hold any grudges for all the shit that had happened between the both of them. It was ridiculous to love that, especially after how convinced he’d been that he would hate his Maker when he finally caught up. Memory loss was a real mind-fucker. Gojyo didn’t know what to think anymore, so he stopped and just concentrated on feeling good.

It didn’t take long for them to come. Hakkai first, the hardness cupped in Gojyo’s palm throbbing from the release at his climax. Gojyo followed soon after, spilling himself into the tight clench of Hakkai around him, and wishing that he could mark Hakkai in the same permanent ways that tied him to his Maker.

The silence that followed after was terrifying. Even so, Gojyo was reluctant to pull out, and when he finally did, was reluctant to pull away. It was Hakkai that first spoke, after Gojyo’d reached for his cigarettes and lighter, arm still firmly wrapped around Hakkai’s waist.

“You already have, you know,” was what Hakkai said with a forced casualness that did nothing to hide how shaken up he was feeling as well. It made Gojyo feel a little bit better that for once, he wasn’t the only clueless idiot in the picture.

“Yeah? How so?”

Hakkai rolled over to face him, and if he hadn’t cut the patrician’s hair into this modern neat cut, it would have teased over the skin on Gojyo’s chest.

“I have watched you every day of my life since you first starting hunting for me.” Hakkai’s smile was impossible to read, but Gojyo was starting to get an idea of the picture anyway. “I think we have very different ideas about who is in control.”

Gojyo chuckled. They were both bitter people, that much was obvious.

“Yes, we are, aren’t we? Please don’t burn the pillows.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gojyo took a last, long drag and flicked the cigarette into the ashtray with incredible precision. “So, you gonna wipe my memories again, or what?”

“You haven’t forgiven me, have you?” Hakkai asked. Except he had to know the answer, because people, and especially Gojyo, were clearer to him than water all the time.

“I don’t remember when it stopped mattering,” Gojyo said, grinning wryly as he did. “Then when it did, and the hate kinda just disappeared, all I wanted was to find you.” He felt Hakkai tense, then relax, when he realised that Gojyo didn’t want to leave anymore. Wasn’t going to ask for death this time round, just because he was sick and tired of hurting.

“Oh,” Hakkai said, pondering. “I see.”

“So what now?” For the briefest moment, Gojyo thought about the patrician’s palace, and Rome. But the wounds were just beginning to mend, and he wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

“Would you kill me if I asked, Gojyo?” Hakkai received a glare for his efforts.

“Fuck, you’re selfish. You always have been.”

Hakkai nodded and planted a chaste kiss on the corner of Gojyo’s mouth.

“Yes,” Hakkai agreed. “I am that. And until you decide that you can, I’ll just have to follow you.” Gojyo was gathering that this was what Hakkai’d wanted all along, except Banri’s presence had stayed his hand. It was a pleasant thought.

“He hated me,” Hakkai murmured. He was tracing soothing circles over Gojyo’s arm. “All those years that he couldn’t find you, he hunted me from afar.” For a second, his smile turned wry, close to a scoff, and Gojyo was reminded of when they first met, and Gojyo was blinded by how superior a creature the patrician had seemed.

“It was foolish of him to try; he never found me. But I wasn’t going to risk caving in and seeking you out before I killed him.”

“What, he couldn’t find me on his own?”

Hakkai’s laughter was filled with self-reproach. One day, Gojyo thought, he would change the way it sounded.

“You couldn’t find yourself,” Hakkai said.

True that.

“Meanwhile, I hope you don’t mind the company.”

“Sure, I guess,” Gojyo said, and stared at the ceiling, thinking that he didn’t know what else to do now, and he was perfectly fine with that.

 


End file.
